Monday, November 17, 2014

Which is a word, believe it or not, that
has been taken over from the German, as is, into English: who knew?

Very appropriate that this be the word of the day today when I opened my
e-mails, especially after yesterday’s blog and my recent experiences.

Gemeinschaft means social relations that
are based upon not only kinship, but also social ties and personal affection:
community.

We have often heard the expression, concerning
the raising of children, that it takes a community: I have learned that it also
takes a community to bury someone. It takes willing hearts and hands to help clean out a home; to help the immediate family and small villages seem to provide the best.

The reason for funeral services, memorial
services or even a simple gathering at the cemetery or to strew ashes, is to
comfort those left behind, to draw them into the greater strength of a group,
to allow all to share in the remembrance of the deceased person.

Animals hide away to die; in old Indian
cultures, the elderly would decide upon their “time”, hold a ceremony that
allowed them to say goodbye then wander off to their favourite (often highest)
point and allow nature to take its course. The moral and mental strength that
took is mind-boggling to us today.

We, as a Gemeinschaft, are hopefully
learning every day - and especially in sorrowful circumstances – to come
together, to assist each other, to become and remain: a community.

Sunday, November 16, 2014

Rather, I am thinking of those persons who
in the face of adversity or crises are

capable of becoming someone to lean on,
someone to listen, someone to provide that which is momentarily lacking be it
food, drink, telephone calls and a host of other actions and items way too long
to list.

We sometimes call some of them “carers”,
but by supporters I also mean those who by one simple or non-repetitive task
make another’s life easier.

My aunt (mother’s younger sister) was one
such: in her professional life as she was unmarried she would take on the
holiday surgery schedule so that other nurses with families could be home; she
provided fresh baked goodies most weekends (not that my mother was a slouch in
that department herself), she it was who gave us those toys (namely dolls,
stuffed animals and watches) that were beyond my parent’s wallets.

When my father passed away, my mother’s
church had a group that supplied the food for the reception; when my mother
passed away, the same group provided her children with food for that
reception.And when my little sister
passed away there were her friends to help us bind the community.

When my husband died, many a supportive
deed was accomplished in our favour, but I am also talking of those who by
their acts of listening to the lonely mother, father, grandfather, grandmother,
neighbour etc. are supportive.

If I mention the supporters it is because
they are rarely acknowledge: their assistance and care often taken for granted,
but who of us can get through life without having the odd “hand up”?They smooth life’s paths, ease life’s
challenges and aid in facing adversity.

Without the selfless giving of one’s time
or talents, life would be so much poorer.

I salute those who give their place in line
to someone more rushed; to those who provide coffee or tea for all entering
their sphere during times of stress and grief; to those who print the photos or
type the programs; to those who polish (unasked) someone else’s shoes; to those
who walk an elderly/handicapped person across the street; to those who make the
phone calls after accidents; to those who aid someone who has fallen in public
to get back up and who stop long enough to make sure that they are o.k.; to
those who by their presence make life a little bit easier, warmer and loving.

Friday, November 14, 2014

It all started at the book sale last week:
one of my Mary friends (there is Mary A, Mary B, Mary D, Mary G, Mary H and Mary S so far, if I add the foreign language Mary's as in Maria there would also be F and T) had been helping out at the English-speaking library since 1956
and although she no longer is there every Wednesday, she still helps with the
book sale.

She is also a neighbour living just below
me on the lakefront.

We got to chatting – the usual “how are
you”? We really should have coffee/tea”, etc. then she proudly announced that
she would be turning 90 the next Wednesday – Nov.12th.

Well I thought – need something here, but
as was on a non-residue diet (don’t ask, it’s over and all is well) waited
until Tuesday when I all of a sudden thought – ah ha, I haven’t made brownies
in a long, long time, the weather is cooler, I have the time, let’s do it.

Then, as is my wont, started thinking…

I need to thank S for giving my younger son
a desk and two sets of drawers and she loves my brownies; need to thank F who
took me to the doctor; then it was going to be the physical therapist's birthday
as well and, oh by the way, brownies would - if not make the pain go away - at
least be a welcome comfort to my housemate who just lost one of her best
friends – and whom I would be visiting.

Then, as I am making them (two double
batches!) may as well make sure that I leave some for my younger son, who
although he eats very healthfully has been known to make an exception for my
brownies.

In short, I baked for friends and family because I love them. I’m not always so good with the hugs or words, but brownies I can
bake. And I figure that “baked love” isn't the worst way of showing it.

Monday, November 10, 2014

Death at a
physical distance not the way our Western society seems to hold death (and many
other unpleasant things) at an emotional distance, something to be shut away,
not mentioned and certainly not acknowledged in many cases: that in itself
would make a blog.

The latest of
these came when a good acquaintance passed away suddenly last Wednesday in
Southern France.I call her a good
acquaintance out of respect as I am not sure that I can claim her as a good
friend: we only met some ten years ago; she lived a seven-hour train drive away
and over the years I probably only saw her a half-dozen times on trips to visit
my housemate. That being said I always spent time with her during those trips
be it having coffee or tea in her home, or out, having a meal together,
laughing over many things, talking about Africa (she had spent time in Burkina Faso
as had my oldest son) and looking over her books (she sold used books in
English to the local expat community: she was also a seamstress and I had her
make me two summer dresses at one point). I was there to celebrate her 75th
– and met two of her daughters. Our most recent meeting was just this past
summer and my brightest memory the evening four of us women had “girl’s night
in”, i.e. popcorn, champagne and DVD’s – although we had so much to talk and
laugh about that we never got to the DVDs as I recall.

I had to first
process the shock – and didn’t write at all for several days – however as has
been my want since childhood, things have to be written for me to integrate
them.

Barbara’s death
brought back all those others that happened at great physical distances (one of
the downsides – and there really aren’t many – of living far from family is the
distance needing to be bridged during crises).

The first for me
was my mother-in-law in 1975: she had a stroke just days after having returned
home from visiting us and we were not able to get there to see her in the
hospital for three weeks (three very long weeks!). When we did, we saw her in
the evening in the hospital and she passed away that night. The next was my
favorite aunt in 1980: I was extremely fortunate in that my mother was able to
tell me when to come and I was able to see her in the late afternoon before she
passed away that night. My father fell, broke his hip, had a stroke then passed
away from pneumonia all within the space of 10 days in 1998 (and as he was on
the mend no one made it to see him). Although I was undergoing chemotherapy at
the time I was able to be there for his funeral.Shortly thereafter, it was the death of my
husband: a good friend took me to the hospital in the middle of the night to
see him one last time – we had been visiting him in ICU the week that he was in
a coma due to a lung hemorrhage and before that in the hospital whilst he went
through the process for a heart transplant.Closing my own personal litany of deaths was that of my little sister in
September of 2012. That was the only one where I actually had the privilege of
being with her as she rendered her last breath although I had crossed the Atlantic Ocean and the whole of the USA.

Interestingly
enough – of all of them, hers was the easiest, perhaps because I was physically
present or perhaps because she suffered the most over the three years that the
disease progressed.

In any case, death
at a distance becomes very close and one needs closure so I will be traveling
down to be with the villagers (she was an icon as on top of the used-English
book store and alterations or the making of clothes, she also was in the Gospel
choir and knew literally everyone), her daughters and her friends as we
celebrate (the mourning will be done in private) her life this coming weekend.

R.I.P Barbara –
you were loved and your death only creates a bit more distance than usual in
between us.

Friday, November 7, 2014

The first few
days, weeks, months after we had to put down our last cat, for me there was no
question of ever acquiring
another (the fact that it happened very shortly after my sister died didn’t
help, nor did the fact that my brother and sister-in-law also had to put down
their dog then as well).

The second year it
was nice to not have to organize someone to come in and see to cats as I
traveled. This state of affairs lasted until the middle of this summer, then
all of a sudden I couldn’t imagine spending the winter without a cat in the house.I patiently waited until I finished renting
in the mountains for the year, then checked out the web-site for the local
animal shelter: http://www.sgpa.ch/

They were open for
adoptions three afternoons a week and as my younger son was interested in going
along with me we were finally able to do so two days ago.I went thinking that I would take a cat that
had been there some time, would let the cat pick me and would even be willing
to have two as I was sure that it isn’t easy to place pairs.

Well, it seems
that all the cats that we looked at and touched were more than happy to be our
friends – even the ones that the girl thought were difficult! So that wasn’t
helping.After two hours (poor son, he
is allergic and his eyes were red and he was coughing) we did finally decide to
take the pair of sisters: Gougou and Kitty.

Now it won’t matter
what language you translate this into, Gougou as a name just wasn’t going to
happen and Kitty in our eyes wasn’t much better.It was a very long drive home (traffic hour)
and when S mentioned that one looked almost like she had eyeliner, I said
Cleopatra – promptly shortened to Cléa.Gougou took a wee bit longer but with her white bib – in France a
“bavette” it just seemed to come out of nowhere – Babette.

First night was
spent in the laundry room, both hiding behind the furniture under the pipes, 24
hours later Cléa was already acclimated but Babette is a bit more
stand-offish.Both don’t like sudden
movements and prefer people coming down to their level, but are (very) quickly
adjusting. They are four years old but have retained their youthfulness and
absolutely love being petted and rubbed.

My winter will be
much warmer with them in the house and I can only plead for anyone else needing
a cat or dog to head for their local animal shelter – there are so many needing
good homes.

Just a word for those of you wanting pictures right away - have you ever tried to take a picture of a cat that doesn't even really want to see you at the moment? It took until last night to get anything slightly o.k. but here they are!

Babette who looks like she got into the chocolate

Cléa, who contrary to appearances here, comes readily and loves being petted.

As one of our
favorite waiters from our local restaurant has now opened up his own, taking
over the Café de la Frontière on the
border and since her husband had not yet been there, we decided that would be
our goal.

Ah, ah and might I
saw ah with a bit of awe thrown in!

She went for the
“contraband” menu, I for the bi-monthly menu and R. for a hunt-based one.

We were none of us
disappointed from the starter, in my case squash soup with bits of foie gras; she a foie gras lightly pan-fried and he a Caprese salad (mozzarella and tomatoes).
Our main courses were also very pleasing to the palate, so much so that dessert
became a modified version thereof, D-L and I settling for an apricot sherbet
(that actually tasted like apricot and had bits of fresh apricot in it) and R.
for a highly gourmet creation of chocolate and ice cream.

Stuffed would be a
good word. Sun was shining throughout: all for celebrations!

Saturday, November 1, 2014

And I don’t mean
the jogging one, although in its time it too was fun, but rather that trip to the airport or train station.

My husband
travelled a lot and as we were early risers anyway, it really didn’t matter
that he often took the first flight out of Geneva at 6:00. For two years we
lived just 5 minutes from the airport then- although all the way across town – there was no traffic: I could get
all the way to the airport at 5:00 (remember this was back when arriving an
hour ahead of time was not only feasible, but legal and doable) without seeing
any other cars and the bonus was sunrise on the way back.Also the bar was open and we often had a
coffee together before he walked through the then-easy security check. When our
first son was born, it still didn’t matter as just put him to sleep in his
carrycot and threw that in the car along with the suitcase.

In the early 80s
we were in our “new” (now 33-years-old!) house and again early in the morning I
could get there in 18 minutes without speeding if the lights were all green
(and they often were). Now I had not only drive in along the lake as it changed
from night dark to dark blue to shades of blue and gray, but also the bonus of
sunrise over Mont Blanc as I drove across the one bridge linking left and right
banks.

There was a
smattering of cars going in and maybe two more coming out – still no big deal.

I continued to
take my husband to the airport- and was
probably the only wife in town who didn’t mind doing so at the crack of dawn –
as I loved that peaceful time of the world waking up, of seeing it before about
99% of the rest of the inhabitants in our state and town.

Traffic grew, but
the early morning run is still not only doable, but pleasant.

My younger son
needed to catch a train this morning at 7:15 and was very surprised that I
offered to take him in – but oh what a blessing to yet again experience that
early-morning calm and the beauty that was this morning before the sun came up!